Asylum
by Rant Girl
Summary: What if Dean was just that ninth kind of crazy? Or is he? AU
1. Chapter 1

It was dark.

"Sam!"

Nothing.

"SAM!"

Shapes forming just beyond the blackness, he could just make out a voice. No two voices. There were two.

_"Sam?"_

"Dean your brother is right here."

Dean blinked furiously, a hand on his knee starting to come into focus, the edges still soft. He scrunched up his eyes. It was bright. Too bright. He gripped the side of his head, felt like he had Alastair up there carving out one of his symphonies. His breathing laboured, he forced his eyes open. He was in a hospital room, the doctor crouched before him unregistered as his gaze went straight to…

"Sammy?" his voice distant. Hoarse.

Concern etched on his brother's face and something like hope flickering in his eyes, bringing tears with it, "Dean?"

"How'd you get away from them?"

"From who Dean?"

"The demons."

The doctor took out his torch to shine in Dean's eyes, Dean putting his arms up, hitting the doctor's hands away, shielding his eyes, the light sharp, "Easy," irritation evident in his voice.

"He's lucid," though the doctor spoke as if he wasn't.

_Uh ya think?_ Dean's gut reaction but he didn't say it. Sam was looking at him funny.

"Sammy what happened?" the doctor's presence starting to grate him, "Hey do you mind pal?"

"Dean-" Sammy always concerned with politeness.

"No, it's alright. You can have a moment."

"Do you think that's wise?"

Dean stared at his brother incredulously, was that panic in his eyes?

"You'll be fine. Keep him talking."

Pained, Sam nodded.

Dean waiting 'til he was satisfied the doctor was out of earshot, "What gives? I mean what the hell was that? And what about Meg?"

"Meg?"

"You know. She's about yay tall. Road you for 'bout a week. Lucifer's right hand demon skank. Ringing any bells?"

"Dean. There's no such thing as demons."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ha, ha. Very funny."

Dean's brow furrowed. Something was definitely off. And it wasn't just the conviction held in Sammy's silence. It wasn't even the pleading tone in his voice, as he said, "Dean please…" they'd both been doing a lot more of that recently. It was his eyes. Brimming with worry and…grief?

"Am I missing something here? How long was I out?" Sam all of a sudden finding his sneakers very interesting.

"How long?"

"Five years," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck, as if expecting his brother's next question he continued, taking a deep breath, his voice quiet, uneven, "There was an accident. We…we were in the car, with mom…"

"Wait. Mom? Mom's alive?" hope flickering in the pit of his stomach.

Sammy just hung his head in reply, and just like that it was snuffed out, "Oh."

"Busted my leg. You didn't even have a scratch on you. But after Mom…Dad…"

"Went off the reserva-"

"Dean. Dad hung himself."

"No," and it wasn't a question or a challenge, Dean refused to believe it. Not his Dad. His hero.

Sam ignored him, "You hadn't spoken one word since Mom…and then Dad, and you-"

"Went one too many flews over the cuckoo's nest?" a huff of laughter on the back of his breath, what was he doing? None of this was real. This reeked of a certain douchebag of an angel.

"That's not funny."

"It kinda is," rolling his eyes as Sam narrowed his, "Whatever, just get me out of here."

Sam dropped his head, shuffling his feet, he scratched his left shoulder.

"Sammy, you're not just gonna leave me here?" panic and accusation rising in his voice.


	3. Chapter 3

"Damnit Dean," Sam steeled his jaw, pushing his hand back through his hair, and it took every ounce of strength he had left not to raise his voice, his words clipped, "You think I want to? Think it's easy to just walk through that door knowing you're stuck in here? It's been five years Dean. Five years I've been coming here, and I haven't missed one day." And he hadn't, the staff letting him stay even beyond visiting hours.

Dean hanging his head this time. 

"Why Sammy?" he rasped, his heart breaking for the kid.

Sam shook his, a tremor taking hold of his jaw. This was the first time he'd spoken to his brother since…he didn't want to fight. He'd spent the better part of the last year and a half just watching as his brother howled out in pain, but it was worst when he would cry, his baby brother's name a broken litany from his cracked lips, "You're all I've got left."

Dean wanted to say something. Anything. Wanted to comfort his little brother. But what could he offer this Sam? This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Could it?

The doctor re-entered the room, "Alright Dean, we're going to need to run a few tests, see that everything's running normal, then tomorrow we can get started on your evaluation."

"Evaluation," he repeated quietly, more to himself, he didn't like the sound of it.

"Look Doc, I know you're just doing your job, but I don't need to be evaluated. I'm fine. Demons don't exist. It's all in my head. Can I go home now?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. The demons are not the issue here Dean. You lost sight of reality, and we need to find out why."

"Uh I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say my parents dying might have something to do with it. You know that whole traumatic stress thing."

"Dean if you wouldn't mind I'd like to speak to your brother in my office," the doctor choosing to ignore him, like a parent dismissing a child who won't stop asking for ice-cream.

"Sure, no problem, it's just my physical and mental well-being at stake here, so why should that be of any concern to me."

"You'll get your chance to speak during the evaluation, I'd just like to go over a few things, answer any questions."

"I've got a question."

The doctor gave a slight nod, and Dean half smirked, the expression only lingering on his lips for a fraction of a second, but Sam didn't miss it, sighing inwardly. Dean keeping his face straight, "How many surgeons do you think it'll take to remove that clipboard from your ass?"


End file.
